A/N: I'm not really certain about this story. I wrote it a week or so ago when I was really, really depressed because of an experiment (I'm a molecular biologist) that went wrong after two months of hard labour. It's a sequel/epilogue to "Sarmatian Betrayal" and deals with the emotional aftermath that Lancelot goes through. Several people asked me to write such a sequel, but I don't think anyone meant it to be so dark.

It's also written in a slightly different style than I usually use, more narrative I guess would be the right word.

Of course I would like to know what everyone thinks of the story, but mostly I'd like to know if you think it is in character with Lancelot. Don't be afraid to tell me you don't think so, because I might just agree :)

"No… No, please! NO!" All the knights awoke with a start as they heard Lancelot screaming desperately into the night.

"Lancelot? Lancelot!" Arthur screamed as he jumped out of bed, startled awake, concern etched in his face.

After Lancelot had killed Lukhum, he had become silent and withdrawn. His brothers-in-arms understood and gave him the space to deal with his inner turmoil, while always letting him know that they were there for him would he choose to talk. Hardly any word had left the dark knight's lips in the two days since the battle with the Woad rebels. Arthur had tried to talk with his friend but had not managed to break the wall that Lancelot had raised. Very rarely he would answer when Galahad asked him if he was alright.

And then after two days the nightmares had started. The first time Lancelot had screamed out in his dreams, it had taken Arthur a few moments to realize what had awoken him. Soon the nightmares had become so frequent that Arthur came to expect to be awoken by Lancelot's frightened screams. Sometimes the sound would echo through the knights' quarters more than once a night.

Usually, Lancelot would brush off everyone after having been woken from yet another nightmare, claiming to be alright, but then Arthur would hear him crying quietly when he was alone again. Occasionally, he wasn't capable of putting back up the barrier fast enough and he would let out the tears and sob in Arthur's embrace. Arthur held him, but he didn't know how to console the knight in his arm as he cried heartrendingly.

It had been two weeks since the nightmares started and Lancelot's screams had just woken up his fellow knights for the third time this night already.

Arthur arrived first at Lancelot's door, with Gawain close behind. The other knights had come out of their rooms also, worry reflected on all of their faces. Three times in one night hadn't occurred before.

Arthur moved forwards to the bed and knelt down next to the thrashing Sarmatian. "Lancelot?" He knew there would be no response. He reached out to wake Lancelot who was talking in his sleep, when suddenly Gawain grasped his arm and held him back.

"Wait…" The blond knight seemed to be listening intently to the words that Lancelot was saying. Arthur didn't understand a word of what Lancelot was uttering, since he was talking in Sarmatian.

Dagonet came into the room quietly as though he didn't want to disturb Lancelot. He stood at the end of the bed, listening carefully as Gawain did.

Arthur saw the glances that Gawain and Dagonet were exchanging. He could see the understanding and sadness in their looks.

When Lancelot started to scream again, the Roman commander couldn't stand it any longer. He moved forwards again and tried to wake Lancelot. He placed his hands on both of Lancelot's arms, shaking the trembling body gently.

Lancelot came awake with a start, sitting up with a jolt, gulping for air. He looked around bewildered. His face was coated with sweat. Arthur suddenly caught his eyes, and could see the raw pain eating away at his knight. Lancelot brought up his hands to his face, slumping forward, while he sobbed softly, not trying to hide his tears this time.

Arthur immediately took him in his arms. Lancelot's hands came around his commander's back, grabbing a tight hold of Arthur's shirt. The Roman moved his hands over Lancelot's back, trying to soothe him, calm him.

Gawain and Dagonet looked at each other and moved towards the door together, leaving Arthur and Lancelot alone. In the hallway the others were waiting. Galahad was the first to speak up. "We heard…" Gawain nodded knowingly, but remained silent and pensive.

Arthur stayed with Lancelot until he fell back asleep. He stood up quietly, not wanting to disturb the curly haired man, knowing he needed every minute of dreamless sleep he could get. He took in Lancelot's appearance. The Sarmatian knight looked horrible, exhausted with huge dark circles around his eyes. Arthur wasn't surprised. He wondered how much sleep Lancelot had really gotten in the last two weeks.

The other knights had waited outside Lancelot's room for their commander. Arthur saw their grave faces. "What's going on?" he asked with trepidation in his voice.

Gawain answered. "We have to talk but not here." He looked meaningful to Lancelot's door.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "It's almost morning anyway. Get dressed and gather in the main hall in half an hour." Arthur hurried to his own room, his mind reeling with anguish for his knight.

When Arthur entered the main hall, the others were seated already. "Speak."

Gawain seemed to search for the right words. "He's talking to his parents in his sleep."

Arthur looked up in surprise. "What?"

Gawain sighed. "He's begging them not to turn him away. He's screaming out that he didn't mean to kill him, referring to Lukhum obviously… Arthur, I think he's afraid that he has no home anymore to return to. Afraid that his tribe will ban him."

Arthur was shocked. "Would they? Would his parents turn him away? His tribe banish him?"

Gawain looked around the table. "We don't think so. The circumstances were exceptional. You have to understand that tribes are like families, Arthur. Everyone protects everyone. You don't just kill someone from your family." He paused briefly. "But what happened here, between Lancelot and Lukhum… it's nothing like anything that would have happened back home. No, I'm certain that his family would not abandon him." Another pause. "But obviously Lancelot does feel so."

Arthur considered what Gawain had just said. He considered what had gone on in the last week. He realized that what Gawain was saying fit perfectly with Lancelot's behaviour lately. The knights had been in several battles with thieves, rebels, Woads. And Lancelot had been reckless, far more than normal. He charged first without waiting for the others. He threw himself in the middle of fights. His great skills with his swords had kept him alive. And true to be told, he had saved quite a few of his fellow knights from both minor and severe harm. But more than once he got injured himself, although always cuts and scrapes and gashes that could be closed with no more than a few stitches. None of the injuries seemed to slow him down or make him aware of the danger he was bringing to himself. Arthur had told him to be more careful, and Lancelot had just looked at him as though he had grown a second head. "Careful? In battle?"

Their healer Flavius had especially come to speak with Arthur about Lancelot. The old man had a soft spot for the stubborn Sarmatian knight. "He's going to get himself killed, Arthur," Flavius had said. "He's gravely troubled." Arthur had nodded in agreement, and confessed how helpless he felt. He just couldn't find the right words to say to his closest friend. He didn't know what Lancelot desperately needed to hear, because Lancelot wasn't telling what was tearing him up deep inside.

But if Gawain and the other Sarmatian knights were right than Lancelot might not just not care anymore about his own life, but even be seeking death, Arthur realized. As Lancelot had said so often, he had never been fighting for his own cause but for Rome's cause, and Arthur knew that all that had kept the dark knight going was the prospect of freedom and returning home. Home to Sarmatia, home to his family, home to his tribe. If Lancelot felt that there was no home to return to anymore, he would have no reason, no purpose left to fight and maybe even live. The exhaustion caused by too many nights torn up by dreams to get any restful sleep wouldn't help him deal with such a mindset.

Arthur nodded slowly. "I'll talk with him. He is just going to have to listen to what we say!"

Two hours later, Arthur had still not been able to find Lancelot. He had not been asleep in his bed anymore when Arthur went to his room. None of the other knights, not even Tristan, had been able to find Lancelot. It wasn't until in the middle of the night that they found out that Lancelot had returned, when he woke all of them up once more with his agonizing screams.

Arthur went to him, tried to soothe him, tried to talk with him, but Lancelot wasn't listening. He just sat on his bed, breathing heavily, pain radiating from his eyes, unresponsive to anything Arthur said.

The next day, Arthur and his knight left early in search of yet another band of Woad rebels. Arthur had considered leaving Lancelot back at the fort, but realized that with so few left that he needed his best knight in any fight.

The Roman heard Dagonet cry out Lancelot's name and twirled around just in time to watch how Lancelot collapsed to the ground unconsciously with an arrow lodged in his shoulder, only a small part of the shaft still visible as it had driven in deep.

"Lancelot!" Arthur yelled out, echoing Dagonet. He ran to where Lancelot was lying completely still. For a moment Arthur thought the Sarmatian was dead. Relief flooded his body when he saw his chest slowly going up and down.

He looked up at Dagonet. "Hold him down! We need to get the arrow out!"

Dagonet only nodded, looking at Lancelot with a gaze that held pain and worry, pity and fear, as he knelt down next to Lancelot, firmly planting his hands on the knight's chest.

"Ready?" Arthur asked in a strained voice, before he pulled out the arrow with as much force as he could muster. The arrow seemed to be caught behind a bone, but suddenly slipped free, almost throwing Arthur off balance. The Roman immediately pressed down his hand on the wound as blood started gushing out.

The fighting around them soon died down as the other knights killed the last of the Woads that were left standing. One by one, they came to where Arthur and Dagonet were tending to Lancelot. Galahad turned white as a sheet when he saw the lifeless form of his brother-in-arms. Gawain stood silently, fear evident on his face. Bors cursed to every god he could think of. Tristan took one look, before he turned away.

Soon Tristan reappeared with his saddle bag, taking out bandages and water while he knelt down next to Arthur. He handed them to Arthur, who hastily applied them to the wound that was still bleeding freely.

"Arthur…" Tristan's voice shook Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked up at his scout, who was holding the arrow up he had pulled out of Lancelot's shoulder. "Poison." The simple word sent a shiver down Arthur's spine, and he felt despair settling in his heart.

"We have to get him to the fort." Dagonet said as Arthur seemed to remain silent.

Galahad stood. "I'll get the horses." It was written all over his face that he was glad to be able to do something that would take his mind off of Lancelot's state of being.

"He'll ride with me," Arthur stated what everone already knew. Dagonet and Bors quickly helped to lift the unconscious man onto Arthur's white horse. Arthur hugged his closest friend close to his chest, his head lolling forwards.

The ride back to the wall went swiftly and in silence. Galahad had galloped ahead to warn their healer, and Flavius was already waiting when Arthur carried the Sarmatian into his ward. The grey eyes of the healer betrayed that he felt like his fears concerning Lancelot were about to come true.

For three long days Lancelot swayed between living and dying. The poison of the arrow had spread throughout his entire body and caused him to burn with a high fever. Shivering one moment, delirious the next, Arthur had stayed with him through it all, his heart breaking a little further each time his knight screamed out, in pain, in distress.

Arthur had prayed to his God, and he had tried to talk to Lancelot, to soothe him. "You have to fight this, Lancelot. Even if you feel you have no family, no home left, you should never forget that we're here for you." The whispered words were lost in the air.

And then slowly Arthur became aware that Lancelot was sleeping more quietly, almost peacefully. The red blush in the ghostly pale face seemed to have gone down some, and when he checked by placing his hand on Lancelot's forehead he knew that the fever was going down. Finally.

Flavius stopped by not much later and confirmed that indeed the fever had broken. "Go tell your knights, Arthur. They're out of their minds with worry for Lancelot. I'll stay with him, until you return."

Arthur nodded. He turned back to the bed and Lancelot, touching the Sarmatian's hand briefly. "I'll be right back," he promised.

Arthur found his other knights already up and awake in the tavern, with Vanora serving them breakfast. Silence descended over the table as their commander neared, trepidation tangible, not wanting to hear of Lancelot's death.

Arthur didn't prolong the tension. "His fever broke."

The knights audibly inhaled in relief. Clapping of hands on shoulders could be heard. Laughter of relief, and bellows of joy as well.

Arthur suddenly caught Dagonet's gaze, and slowly his relief turned into ice cold fear once more as he saw the look in the large knight's eyes. "Dagonet?"

Although Arthur's voice had not been loud, his tone had reached the other's, and suddenly silence returned to the table again and all faces turned towards Dagonet.

Dagonet sighed, not sure how to tell what he had kept to himself from the moment he saw the arrow hitting the dark knight. "Lancelot…" He suddenly lifted his head to look his commander straight into his eyes. "He stepped into the path of that arrow deliberately, Arthur. It would have missed me, not by much, but it would have missed me. He took it without making a sound." He didn't have to say more as the image he painted was as clear as a summer sky to them.

Arthur reeled with shock, a shock even worse than the shock that had jolted through him when his knights had revealed Lancelot's dreams to him. "We have to talk with him, stop this! It can't wait any longer. As soon as he is well enough, he is going to talk to us!" Arthur turned around and walked away.

Lancelot woke up for the first time the next day. Arthur or any of the other knights stayed with him all the time from that moment on, but none of them had been able to reach the Sarmatian. He had completely withdrawn within himself. He seemed blind and deaf to the concerned and frightened looks that his fellow knights shared between them.

Two days later Galahad followed Lancelot when he unexpectedly left his room. Galahad's surprise rose even further when he realized they were on their way towards the cemetery at the hill.

Galahad wasn't surprised when only a short time later Arthur and the other knights joined them. Lancelot didn't even acknowledge their presence.

Troubled looks were once again exchanged between the knights, uncertain on how to approach the silent and still man, until Arthur straightened himself and sat down next to Lancelot.

"We know that you stepped into the path of that arrow deliberately."

For a moment, Arthur didn't think that Lancelot was going to respond.

Then the dark haired man bowed his head and rested his face in his hands. A visible shudder shook his frame.

"I wish I were dead."

Hearing Lancelot say the words himself left all of them speechless.

It was Lancelot who continued. "My father always told me that brave knights came back as great horses." He gestured around to the graves of their fallen friends. "They returned home. Maybe I can go home when I'm dead."

"We want you here with us, Lancelot," Arthur said softly.

Galahad was sitting with bowed head, looking at the grass between his feet. "I wish I had killed him!" he whispered.

"NO!" Suddenly Lancelot whipped up his head. His eyes ablaze with a fury that had been lacking for weeks. "NO! Then you would be in my position now! I wouldn't wish that on my enemies! Not even the Romans! No. No!" He hid his head in his hands again, the outburst leaving him breathless.

"Do you wish you had let Lukhum kill Galahad?" Arthur asked again softly.

"NO! How can you think that?" Lancelot looked with shocked eyes at his best friend and commander. Emotions were flashing over his features.

"Would you hate Galahad if he had killed him?" Arthur continued in a soft voice.

"NO!" Lancelot almost jumped to his feet, not believing that Arthur would ask him that. His face was white with shock.

"Do you think we hate you for it?" Arthur's voice was even softer now.

Lancelot opened his mouth to say something, but no words came forward. He looked at the Roman with uncertainty. "I killed someone from my own tribe, my own land…" The statement sounded more like a question.

"Lancelot, you had to, you had no choice! Or otherwise Galahad would be dead now. It was either Lukhum or Galahad. And you choose Galahad! You choose Galahad because he is like family to you, like a brother!" This time Arthur had raised his voice, hoping to get through to the distressed Sarmatian. When he saw he had Lancelot's attention, he continued more quietly. "There could not have been a different outcome, Lancelot. If you had done nothing, then you would have watched Galahad die, and I don't think you would be able to live with yourself… But Galahad is still alive, because you saved him. I hate to see what this is doing to you, the cost you are paying for his life. But you have to believe me that this was the only acceptable outcome! We do not hate you for it. We thank you for it." When he saw Lancelot shaking his head, he added, "We do, Lancelot."

"He's right, Lancelot." Gawain spoke up. "We don't hate you. We never could."

Lancelot looked at him hesitantly. He looked around the circle of knights surrounding him, seeing all of them nod in agreement.

"Do you really think that your parents, your own flesh and blood, who put you on this earth, would hate you for saving the life of one of us, your family not by blood, but your family in any other sense of the word?" Arthur once more prodded in a soft voice, trying to reach the core of his friend.

"No…" Lancelot sounded uncertain, his voice breaking before he could add more.

Arthur watched as the tears started to stream down the pale face of the Sarmatian, his shoulders starting to shake, before he broke down completely, his whole body becoming racked by sobs.

Arthur immediately moved closer and took Lancelot into a tight embrace. The other knights all moved closer as well, all putting a hand on the distressed man, on his shoulders, his knees, anywhere, to give him their support. They just let him cry as he needed to let go off his feelings. Only when he seemed to calm down a little, Arthur spoke up again softly. "You don't need your family or us to forgive you, Lancelot. You need to forgive yourself before it destroys you. We can't undo what was done but we can let you know how much we love you."